Pour me a pitcher and a shot
by Spylace
Summary: How Yamamoto tricks Mukuro into tricking Hibari into their bed. Or something like that. 188069


**Title:** Pour me a pitcher and a shot  
**Summary:** How Yamamoto tricks Mukuro into tricking Hibari into their bed. Or something like that.  
**Rating: **PG15  
**Pairing:** 188069 (Hibari/Yamamoto/Mukuro)  
**Notes:** Happy birthday Hibari! Too bad it isn't a Friday so I could skip class :c I know I have other things I _could_ be writing like an alternate ending to my HDM!verse or that one whore!moto fic but OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT.  
**Disclaimer:** Note to self, being absent from a fandom does not guarantee ownership.  
**Warning: **ooc, really ooc, mostly humor, a lot of crack involved  
**Word count:** 1900

.

"Should I be jealous?" Yamamoto asked, mild as milk, pushing a pair of reading glasses up the bridge of his nose. He held a thick paperback in one hand, staring at it with intensity normally reserved for the blueprint of an enemy base. Frankly, it was starting to unnerve him. The rain guardian had never paid much attention to academics.

"Of what?" He asked tiredly, pawing at the freshly-starched sheets until thighs were bared. Mukuro laid between Yamamoto's legs, idly playing with the other man's waistband as he proceeded to ignore him over the book.

"You and Hibari."

Mukuro paused in his exploration of a particularly colorful line of teeth marks. "You must be _joking_."

Yamamoto closed his book with a laugh. "Haha, but you're not laughing."

"I think you laugh enough for the both of us." Mukuro replied dryly, snatching the book out of his hands. "But come now, what is this?" He waved the copy of _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_ in the other man's face. "What are you reading?"

"Gokudera says I need culture." Yamamoto informed him pathetically as he slumped dramatically into the mattress, his head making a soft whump against the pillows.

"I give you plenty of culture." Mukuro protested, clutching at his heart.

"He says that one butt plug shaped like the pope doesn't count." There were also other things said but Yamamoto figured that the mist guardian could do without them.

"Those were handmade." The other man frowned, carefully setting the book aside before dropping a kiss on the tip of his nose. "What does he know of culture?"

Yamamoto squirmed and shifted, bearing his neck invitingly as he raised his knees. "He lent me this book?"

"And you're reading it." Mukuro sneered, "How quaint."

"It's actually quite good. There's a boy who finds out he's a wizard and rides on a broomstick."

"I could find you something else to ride."

"Wow, that's terrible." Yamamoto reflected. "But okay."

.

But once the idea had been planted, it grew like a virulent kudzu, choking the life out of him by day and draining it by night. Everywhere he turned, he saw the subtle reminder of Yamamoto and Hibari, like a pair of doves nested on the window ledge, a harsh clang from the ancient boiler no one was brave enough to replace, violet pansies growing too close to blue ones.

Briefly, Mukuro pinched the bridge of his nose and proceeded to stomp all over them.

It was getting to be a problem. He was distracted, inefficient and he was starting to give the thought a serious consideration.

Blast

The thing was that there _could have been _something between Yamamoto and Hibari had he not intervened. The rain guardian was good-looking and strong, something that the ex-prefect appreciated whole-heartedly, and understood him in a way no one else had. In fact, it was out of spite that Mukuro had seduced the younger man out from under the cloud guardian's nose. And it was still his reason, or so he reassured himself, even after Hibari had long worn out his anger.

But in retaliation, he thoroughly debauched Yamamoto before the next calendar event and enjoyed it immensely as the young man toed around everyone else, pretending he wasn't walking with bowed legs and leaking cum. Tsunayoshi's highly disturbed glances were particularly amusing as the rain guardian bit the bullet and went over to Hibari who immediately flushed and snarled that he was disturbing the air.

From the corner of his eyes and through a champagne glass, he saw Hibari growling and Yamamoto unsuccessfully trying to soothe his ruffled feathers. He received a knee in his thigh for his efforts and all those who saw the encounter winced collectively at the assault. Mukuro smiled openly and made a toast to Yamamoto's pouting face.

.

That night, Mukuro was kicked out of their shared quarters for deplorable behavior.

"That's not very fair." He grumbled disparagingly at the door, narrowing his eyes as though he could somehow see through the door and at the younger man, scantily dressed and drying off his hair. But the fine woodcraft was immovable, exuding malice and bitter disappointment from the richly carved whorls. Being a mist guardian meant that he had a degree of empathy in him and he winced a little at the muffled reproof.

"Neither is Tsuna when he's asking why I can't sit still."

Another reason to destroy the Vongola family at the nearest convenience, this was the twenty-first century. The love lives of his subordinates should not register on the Don's radar. After trying fruitlessly one last time, he gave the door a half-hearted kick and left, stalking down the halls and throwing underlings his more nastier smiles. Gokudera, who passed by him, glared—the man needed to get laid, fast.

Mukuro did not sleep well or often but sleep meant that he was not subject to hours of boredom wandering the halls of a torpid building with guards jumping out of every corner. Out of curiosity, he sought Hibari's presence and found himself in the south wing, the furthest room away from Yamamoto's without straying off the premises. Cocking his head, he put a palm against the wall and listened. Immediately, he jerked back, staggering.

"Oh, _oh_..." Mukuro said softly, purring. His lips lifted into a smirk. "How very naughty of you..." he curled his fingers against the doorframe seeking purchase, his legs suddenly weak. He was frighteningly aware of the throbbing between his legs and he let his hand ghost over it, schooling his face with an effort.

Game on

.

It took a month of ghostly touches, well-armed quips and a surprise kiss before Hibari broke down. Yamamoto was in stitches by day six.

Hibari slammed him against the wall. "Why must you _insist_ on provoking me?"

Mukuro had prepared a variety of answers, had practiced them all inside his head. But what came out was the whole truth and nothing but the truth and he couldn't help the thought that Yamamoto had influenced him in more ways than one. This—He reminded himself even as the words spilled past his teeth—was the reason why one did not simply consort with the Mafia.

Even with the best—_the worst_—of them, the inexplicable taint was difficult to get off.

"Yamamoto Takeshi." Hibari states, an angry flare to his nostrils. "I will end him."

Though relieved at having the brunt of the cloud guardian's ire aimed away from him, Mukuro was not about to throw his bedmate under the proverbial bus. At least not until he could be assured of finding a reasonable replacement. Rubbing his throat Mukuro said, "Might I make a proposition?"

The flash of teeth told him all he needed to know.

.

It was surprisingly difficult to catch Yamamoto on his own. Like the herbivore Hibari accused him of being, he was constantly surrounded by guardians or people too important to explain away without due cause. The laughing glint in his eyes told them it was no coincidence and Hibari was furious and a touch aroused at this blatant display. Frankly, the flux of emotions from the two guardians was making Mukuro sick.

I've become a liaison between two masochists—he despaired but took comfort in the fact that Yamamoto kept his windows unlocked most of the time and didn't seem to mind hard cuddling. Mukuro didn't know what he wanted and complained loudly on his side of the bed when not plotting the destruction of the Vongola Famiglia on the sly or commiserating about the stupidity of the tenth generation guardians with Byakuran.

"You should get him flowers." Yamamoto declared emphatically. Mukuro stared at him as though he'd grown a second head. "He looks like he'd like flowers."

"How is this my life?"

Mukuro pressed a thumb against the edge of his lips, drawing a line of spit below the taut cheeks. Yamamoto laughed and blew a raspberry against his wrist and kissed the inseams of his glove, tracing the stitches with his tongue.

"Try harder." He suggested solemnly. "You'll be fine."

"My mistake." Mukuro replied dryly, shrugging off his jacket. "I thought you understood that Kyoya has all but attached a price tag on your little head."

"I'm not sure which head you're talking about."

Yamamoto was smiling so hard it was no longer even a smile.

"You were much cuter," Mukuro opined philosophically as he shoved a fist down the other man's pants. "When you didn't know me."

"I wouldn't say that." Yamamoto replied, his voice taking on a breathless quality. "All couples need a bit of mystery."

Growling, Mukuro rolled him over and nipped his ear.

"Much cuter before you decided to listen to whatever drivel Miura fed you."

.

After a series of unsuccessful hunts, Mukuro gave up. Also, he didn't think that Hibari would have appreciated it if he started humping the ex-prefect in the middle of the hallway. They had moved up to blowjobs at least, with much fear of teeth and tearing on his part. If this was supposed to resolve whatever imaginary sexual tension he had with the cloud guardian, it wasn't working. He missed Yamamoto—his body, he reminded himself constantly, missed Yamamoto. So it was with great pleasure that he unveiled to Hibari, the simple solution of ambushing the other man in bed.

He realized with alarm the particularly strong surge of emoting from Hibari at the announcement. But before he could reflect on his betrayal and sift through the delicious turmoil of violence, lust and frustration, he was being dragged down the halls by his neck. Mukuro sighed at the sight of Yamamoto lounging in their bed, squinting hard at the pages of _Watership Down_ that he found god knows where. He snatched the book away while Hibari smoldered attractively in the doorway.

Mafia, you could never trust them.

"Was I boring you?" He demanded indignantly, his brain rediscovering the prominent blind spot that had Yamamoto Takeshi written all over it. The other man looked up, eyes flicking back and forth between him and Hibari and he was already half _hard_.

"I wanted to be sure I wasn't boring you."

"Enough talk. You have me, do what you will."

Yamamoto was a creature of instinct; Hibari was a creature of instinct. Obviously, this gave them telepathic powers with which they could dissemble each other's thoughts with mere eye contacts. That or Yamamoto had gotten tired of the wait and tipped him off.

Mukuro fumed privately as the younger man pulled him down, wrapping his hands in the garish blue tie Chrome had given him as a gift and he hadn't the heart to throw away. Licking his mouth slow, teasing, he dragged his fingers through his hair and gave him the proper attention he had been denied for the past three _months_.

"Will you do the honors?" Yamamoto asked as Hibari approached. He dragged the older man into their bed easily with one arm, making room by sprawling all over them. Hibari grunted, swore, bit and kicked, not bothering with the threats anymore. Someone had a black eye and another was bleeding.

Mukuro shook his head.

"Much cuter."

.

The next day, they went their separate ways—Hibari as the disconcerting loner, Yamamoto a wolf ensconced in wool and Mukuro flitting somewhere in between. But until the sun rose to pierce the sky, the light throwing up all sorts of interesting shapes on the ceiling, for a moment, Mukuro thought _not bad_, and waited for his lovers to wake.


End file.
